


To Believe in a Happy Birthday

by snowkatze



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Drinking, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Party, Realizations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 23:21:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11300931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowkatze/pseuds/snowkatze
Summary: On Simon’s 18th birthday, he decides to go to a party, like normal people do. But then, unexpectedly, Baz shows up and suddenly this is the night that everything changes.





	To Believe in a Happy Birthday

**Author's Note:**

> A bit late, for Simon Snow's 20th birthday :)

I can't believe Baz is here. The music is droning out everything else, people are dancing and laughing. There is so much noise going on, so much movement. It feels like the whole room is breathing, like one roaring creature, in the last few moments of euphoria before jumping off a cliff. It's lunacy. It's living. And Baz despises it all, I'm sure of it. What is he doing here? How can someone who's dead enjoy something that's made of life? (I wonder whether he envies us. I wonder whether he looks down at us like we're nothing more than something to eat. Maybe both. Or maybe he's not a monster. Maybe he's just a boy, who felt lonely, and wanted to go to a party. Maybe he's more human than I thought him to be.)

But Baz is _here_ and I can't stop looking at him. I'm having trouble being subtle about it. There's just no way for me to keep my eyes off him, the way he looks at the crowd with this utterly bored look, like he's above us all. But I can see his lips quivering, like he's lost. Anyone else wouldn't notice, but I do. I know him. He's not as cool as he acts. At least I think so.

My grip tightens around the plastic cup in my hand. It's cheap bear that tastes of nothing. I didn't care much before, but now that he's here I can't help but feel ridiculous drinking it. He surely thinks it's disgusting and he'd never drink a drop of it. (Just imagine him, sitting in his mansion, one leg over the other and sipping on his wine. His red, thirty year old wine. Or maybe it's just blood.)

The location is greasy, with dim lighting and a low ceiling. The room is buzzing from heat. This place is way below his standards. I can't imagine a reason for him to come here. This is nothing like his idea of fun. (I think he'd have more fun making little children cry by taking away their ice cream.)  
I look into my drink and try to find the answers in there. Could it be that he's plotting something? Is he spying one me? Does he know I'm here? Has he seen me?

I lift my head and he's standing there, just by the entrance, his lips curled into a sneer. He looks wrong in a place like this. He doesn't fit, with his suit and polished shoes. I can tell that he finds all of this distasteful and suddenly, everything in here bothers me. The music is too loud. A girl just two places left of me chucks down drink after drink. Their laughter is bawling.

For once, I wanted to escape my pathetic life and do something normal, drink and dance a bit, like all the others do on a Saturday evening. I wanted to forget. Why does he always have to ruin anything? Maybe this is not some grand evil scheme of his. Maybe all he came to do here is spite me. And I hate that I let him. I hate that he can just invade my thoughts like that. He steps into the room, and just like that, everything is about him. (Because nothing else can compare.)

I pour myself another drink and my vision gets a bit blurry for a moment. I just want him to come over here and tell me what he's doing. But he just folds his arms and when his gaze meets mine, my breath catches in my throat. I open my mouth to speak, forgetting that he's so far across the room with so many dancing bodies between us and the music so loud that he'd never hear me. Before I know it, he turns away again and leaves, shoving a swaying guy to the side.

So is that all he was going to do? Come in here for a few minutes, staring at me and then leaving again? Suddenly I'm angry, because what gives him the right? He needs to stop taunting me like that, he needs to stop being the centre of my life. I can't bear it any more. He's just always here, I can never escape him or the thoughts about him. I can't handle any more how evil, how cunning, how bloody perfect he is. And so beautiful. There's no denying it. He's not even handsome, more like a piece of art, just plain beautiful. I feel like crying, that's how beautiful he is.

I make my way through to the door, because all out of a sudden, it's like I'm suffocating. The cold air hits me in the face, but finally I can breathe again.

And Baz is still here. He's sat on the kerb under a lantern and his eyes are glinting in the light as he raises an eyebrow at me.

I've turned eighteen years old today, making me legally an adult. And I've spent seven a eight years with him. That's almost half of it. It's so long, I can't even imagine a life without him.

I've spent eight years lying to myself. I look at Baz' perfect face, that's  _not_ quite perfect because his nose is slightly crooked (I did that) and I'm a bit drunk and it's my birthday and I think it's time to grow up.

I think it's time I stopped lying to myself.  
I take a step towards him and as I get closer, my heart beat speeds up. A wisp of hair falls into his face. I allow a thought to creep into my mind.

_I want to brush my fingers through his hair._

It looks so soft. My gaze falls to his lips.

_I want to kiss him._

I wonder whether he's ever kissed someone before. Then I look into his eyes and see that he's watching my neck and I remember why I never let myself think about this.  
 _He's a vampire. He thinks about draining me right now. If only he knew that there is a far easier way for him to end me._

Baz stands up and leans with his back against the lantern.

“I didn't think you were into parties,” I remark.

“You don't know a whole lot about me, Snow.”

“I know more than you think. We've been room mates for almost eight years. And I know that you'd never deign to go to a party like that.”  
He buries his hands in his pockets and keeps his gaze on the floor. I can't believe I never saw this before; it's always been like this, after all. I've always wanted these things, seen these things. It was always different than I made it out to be. It tears me apart on the inside that for him, everything is still the same.

He still hates me to the core. He's still my enemy. Except now I've realized that I really, really don't want him to be. And that this feeling of hatred – it's not mutual at all.

I think maybe I can admit it to myself now. Now that I'm eighteen years old and I went to a party to forget about everything, but then he showed up. And he was lighting up the whole room, no matter how dark a creature he is, he draws all of my attention to himself.

I will stop lying now.

“Why did you come here?” I ask, because I need to know. I always need to know everything about him. And now I understand why.

I'll never be able to forget it now.  
He steps closer until our noses are almost touching, but his head hovers above mine. He's always been taller than me. I feel like he's trying to intimidate me, with his glare, but he doesn't know what effect he has on me. (And always has had.)

There's another thought. I'm scared to let it in.

Then, something barely changes in his face and he almost smiles. ( _I wish he would smile at me._ )

He lifts his hand and brings it up to my cheek. My eyes flutter closed. I can't help it. I try to remember that he's dangerous, that I need to figure out what his plan is, that this revelation changes nothing, but I'm tired. I don't want to fight any more.

In a quick movement, he tangles his fingers in my hair and there's a look of utter defeat in his eyes before I suddenly feel his lips pressing against mine and all breath is sucked out of my body.

Baz Pitch is kissing me.  
He. Kisses. Me.

My mind goes blank and my whole body goes limp. There's only one thought left that I can tolerate.

_I'm in love with Baz Pitch. Love. It's love. Love, love, love. I love him. Unconditionally._

(Because you need to have no conditions to love somebody like Baz.)  
 _I'm in love with Baz Pitch, in love with Baz, in love, love, love, Baz Pitch, Baz, Baz, Baz -_

And then it's only his name. Baz. I can't believe I never knew.

He lets go of me before I can respond and I'm too in awe with my own realization to react in any way. All I can do is stare at him wide-eyed. He's still not quite smiling.

“Happy birthday, Simon,” he whispers and turns around, lighting a cigarette. Just like that, he's gone and I'm alone in the streets.

I can't move. I can't think. I stare at the empty space where he just stood.

_Simon. He called me Simon._

 

_-_   
  
My head is spinning on the way home, trying to make sense of what happened just about an hour ago. I'm having trouble comprehending why he did it. What reason could he possibly have had?  
And I'm thinking, maybe he knew. Maybe he figured it all out way earlier than me, because he's too damn smart. Perhaps this was his birthday present to me. It would fit, in a sense. Because on one hand, he hurt me, and on the other hand, I feel like I'm walking on air right now. Everything tingles.

And that's the kind of thing he'd to do you. That's the kind of bittersweet pain he inflicts on you.

It's the rush you feel when he looks at you, the way your skin prickles when he touches you. (Not often.)

When he's in the room, the ravens are singing, not cawing. On the football pitch, he's thunder and storm, but you love listening to the rain when you're safe inside.

I'm not going to hurt him. I'm going to stop. I can't keep doing this any more. I'm done pretending. He can do whatever he wants. (He can rip my heart out if he pleases.) But I won't hurt him.

I wish he'd let me hold his hand, just once. So I could tell him, it's going to be alright. So I could feel the softness underneath the edges of his body. (I wish he'd let me in his head. Because I know that he, too, is pretending, even if it's not the same way that I am. I think, maybe he's not a monster and I wish I knew who he truly is.)

Tonight, everything changes. Tonight, I'm not myself and he isn't either. (No. Tonight, for the first time, I  _am_ myself.)

There's something magical about the night you turned eighteen years old. Possibly that's why he kissed me before. The magic of the night drew him to me.

Nobody except for Penny knows it's my birthday. I'm not all too surprised that Baz knew it anyway, he probably overheard a conversation between me and her. I wonder whether he always knew or whether he only found out recently. (I wonder how long he's known that I'm in love with him.)  
Penny leaves me alone at my birthday. She knows I don't like the attention and celebrating, which is why she wasn't with me at the party. I wanted to do something on my own for once. But I think I was just – running. From our room, from Baz, from the terrible truth I've been hiding from myself. But it followed me. 

I stop in front of the door to our room. That was on my list of things not to think about. The second list. The list of things I can't even think about when I think about things I can't think about. There's only one part of Baz on that list. The part that I'm completely in love with. The thought keeps pulsing through me and I can't stop it any more.

I wonder if it will seem more real if I say it out loud.  
“I'm in love with Baz,” I whisper.

And today, in the night were everything changes, I believe that that's okay.

I push the door open and he's lying on his bed, face to the wall. I should say something, shouldn't I?  
“Baz?” I mutter. Then, with more confidence: “Baz. Why did you kiss me?”  
He doesn't say anything and for a second I believe that he's fallen asleep. Then he drags himself around to look at me.  
“Don't worry, Snow,” he says and I've never heard his voice so soft before. “I've realized something today.”  
“I've realized something, too.”  
“Well, keep it to yourself. I don't want to hear it. But... the war is over, Snow. It's all over, since the Mage is dead. We don't need to be enemies any more. And that's why I'm going to stop being the villain in your story.”  
Now he's only whispering.

“You deserve more than this. You're eighteen now. You have your whole life ahead of you. And I'm not going to be the person that keeps you from being happy.”  
“But why now?”  
“Because last year, and all the years before, I didn't believe there was a future. But now I do. I believe there's a future for you, and for me, too. A future in which you'll be able to forget I was ever here.”  
“Is that why you kissed me?”  
“No.”  
He takes a deep breath and closes is eyes.  
“I kissed you because I'm selfish.”

He opens his eyes only slightly.  
“But this was the last time I just took what I wanted from you. I swear it to you.”  
And like that, he turns around, as if the conversation was over. It isn't.

“How can you think I'd ever be able to forget you?”  
Is he saying what I think he is? Suddenly, I don't even feel real any more. I feel like I'm not made of matter, just dreams. 

“This chapter of your life is finished, Snow. We're graduating soon and then you'll never see me again.”  
“You say there's a future for me. And there's a future for you.”  
“Yes?”  
“But I say that there's a future for _us_ , together.”  
He huffs out a sad shallow laugh.  
“I don't think so.”

“But I do.”  
I step closer and his eyes widen.

“See, Baz, I've realized something.”  
“I already said, I don't want to hear it. It doesn't matter that you feel awkward now, or, or hate me anyway, or want nothing to do with me.... I don't care that you don't understand, or want to punch me, or _whatever_. It doesn't matter any more. That's why I kissed you in the first place.”  
“Did you like it?”  
“What?”  
“The kiss.”

He looks at me and swallows.  
“Snow. I, um...”

I've never seen him speechless before. His voice is raspy as he speaks on.

“Just forget about it.”  
“No.”  
There's silence for a moment.

Then, “Please.”  
He's never begged me for anything before. (This is a night of many firsts. Maybe it's time I added to it.)

“Come on, Baz,” I whisper. “Talk to me.”  
I sit on my bed, just in front of him, and he closes his eyes as if he was in pain.

“That kiss,” he mutters, “was _everything._ ”

Suddenly he looks very, very far away.  
“Everything I ever dreamed of, except you didn't kiss me back.”  
“You can have that.”  
He sits up.

“Can have what?”  
“You can have anything you want from me.”  
And I stand up, and he does too, and we meet in the middle of our two beds. _I can't believe this is happening. I can't believe he's saying these things._

_I can't believe he means it all._

But then we press out palms together and he just stares at our hands with that look in his eyes; a look that says that he can't believe it either. But I'm going to show it to him. I'm going to show him that this is real, that we're real, and that our future is real.

So, I lean forward, and this time, I kiss him with all that I've got. I kiss him to let him know,  _ I feel this too. I don't hate you. I believe in us.  
_ Then, he pushes back and it's like we're fighting, our lips in one on one combat. Except we're not fighting against each other, but together.

When we pull away, Baz smiles at me and I smile back at him.  
“Thank you,” I say.

“What for?”

“It's my birthday.”  
I squeeze his hand.  
“And now I really _am_ happy.”

 


End file.
